


You Can Fix This

by peachgrove



Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [8]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Attempted Sexual Assault, Epilepsy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Protectiveness, Seizures, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachgrove/pseuds/peachgrove
Summary: Saoirse hesitates, swallows, looks over Timmy with sad eyes. Armie can tell she’s feeling sympathy for him, scared her next words might ruin his night, but why? What could be going on?“Luke,” Saoirse finally spits out, and Armie feels his blood go cold, then piping hot in a matter of seconds. That name. The connotation it has. It makes him sick and livid at the same time. “He’s up there. At the party.”orTimmy and Armie encounter Timmy's abusive ex-boyfriend Luke at a party.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: The Epilepsy Diaries [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723651
Comments: 19
Kudos: 118





	You Can Fix This

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags carefully! this is heavy!!

“Saoirse said she’s coming to get us with the elevator key,” Timmy mumbles, his face buried in his phone.

Armie looks over at him and smiles. Smiles because Timmy is so fucking cute. So fucking perfect. Smiling because they will actually be able to enjoy themselves for once, partying with friends they haven’t seen for months. It may be sad, but for Timmy and Armie, it’s exciting when things go right for once.

With a content sigh, Armie pulls Timmy against his side and tucks him under his arm. Timmy goes willingly, shutting off his phone as he snuggles into his boyfriend’s sweater, breathing in.

“Ansel’s parents must be loaded. No way someone his age lives in a place like this,” Armie says as he looks around the lobby of the building. The marble texture covering every surface, the sleek decor. It makes him feel like he’s important being surrounded by such luxurious things. 

Timmy scoffs at that, agreeing whole-heartedly. “Oh yeah,” he confirms. “Ansel will never have to work a day in his life. Trust me.”

Armie nods at that. He likes Ansel. He’s a chill guy, smart, fun to be around. And most of all, he’s good to Timmy. He’s one of the few of Timmy’s high school friends that actually treats him well, actually cares. But Armie digresses. He could rant about Timmy’s shitty friends for ages.

“Typical of you Ivy League-ers. I’m sure there’s plenty of people at Columbia with the same bank account--I mean life story as him,” Armie chuckles.

Timmy elbows Armie. “What the hell does that mean?” he whines with a grin.

Armie laughs. “Nothin’, nothin’.”

Timmy nuzzles his face against Armie’s ribcage further. “Ansel’s a good guy. Money doesn’t mean shit to him,” he defends. “He’s always been really down to earth.”

“No, yeah. Of course I know that,” Armie agrees. He’s known Ansel long enough to know that his charisma isn’t a mask or part of some scheme. He’s genuine, or at least he has been in the last two years Armie has been with Timmy. “In fact, it was really nice of him to throw Will’s birthday party here.”

Now it’s Timmy’s turn to laugh. “Okay, I love Ansel and all, but this party wasn’t thrown out of the kindness of his heart. He just looks for any reason to party in this sick penthouse. Not that I’m complaining, though,” Timmy says.

“Shit,” Armie hisses. “Me fucking neither.”

Just then, the elevator doors finally open to reveal Saoirse. She looks nice, clearly dressed up for tonight’s activities, but she also looks worried. She steps out of the elevator, and before Timmy and Armie can even greet her, she’s speaking.

“We need to talk,” Saoirse says as the doors close behind her, forgotten.

Timmy laughs uncomfortably at his friend’s weird words. He pulls away from Armie and frowns at her. “About what?”

Saoirse hesitates, swallows, looks over Timmy with sad eyes. Armie can tell she’s feeling sympathy for him, scared her next words might ruin his night, but why? What could be going on?

“Luke,” Saoirse finally spits out, and Armie feels his blood go cold, then piping hot in a matter of seconds. That name. The connotation it has. It makes him sick and livid at the same time. “He’s up there. At the party.”

Armie’s jaw twitches and his hands unconsciously clench at his sides. The thought of that sick, twisted fucker being anywhere near Timmy’s vicinity makes him want to bolt, protect, fight. He doesn’t know what to do, frozen in his spot as he looks at Saoirse in shock. What is he supposed to say to that?

He dares a look over at Timmy, his heart shattering when he sees that the color has completely drained from the boy’s face. He gapes at Saoirse, seemingly not knowing what to say either. Armie can see the memories flashing behind his eyes.

Timmy swallows harshly before responding. “H-How do you know? Did you see him?” he stampers.

Saoirse’s eyebrows knit together more. “Yeah, I saw him up there talking to Ansel not too long ago.”

Armie has trouble biting his tongue. He turns to Saoirse, his voice echoing around the lobby. “Well, who the fuck invited him? I mean, they knew Timmy was coming. What kind of shit is this?”

Timmy grabs his wrist with a gentle hand, trying to calm him. It doesn’t work. “Arms, he’s one of Ansel’s closest friends. It makes sense for Ansel to invite him,” Timmy mumbles as he stares at his feet.

And, no. Armie will not have it. He will not allow Timmy to defend such toxic people as if he’s the inconvenience. As if he’s the buzzkill. This guy legitimately abused Timmy, physically, emotionally, sexually, and he’ll be damned if he let’s the people in Timmy’s life make him believe he’s the issue here, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Armie questions, looking between the two, but they’ve both decided to avoid his eye. “Am I the only one that sees a problem with your supposed friend inviting your abuser to a party they knew you’d be at?”

Timmy bites his lips. “Ansel doesn’t know, Armie,” he confesses as his face heats up. Of course he’s embarrassed. Of course he sees himself as the issue.

Armie pauses. How does Ansel not know? Sure, he and Timmy aren’t best friends or anything, but surely he knows, right? Especially if said dude was his best friend.

“I never told him,” Timmy continues. He still can’t meet Armie’s eye, still can’t stop wringing his hands together. “And Luke definitely never told him what he did to me. He doesn’t know,” he swears.

Armie tries to remain calm. “Who knows?”

Timmy hesitates. He seems to think carefully about his answer and how it will sound. “You, Saoirse, Will...my mom and dad, Pauline…”

Armie’s thoughts get stuck on one person. “Will. Why would Will let Ansel invite Luke if he knew?”

Saoirse finally speaks up. The difference between her and Timmy is that she can actually look Armie in the eye when speaking about this. Because she doesn’t have to deal with the shame, the humiliation. It’s an aspect Armie wishes he hadn’t picked up.

“It was a surprise party. Will didn’t know who Ansel was inviting. And I assume he doesn’t want to tell Ansel to ask him to leave without being able to tell him the reason,” she explains. Armie hates that it’s reasonable.

Armie turns back to Timmy, desperate to understand. “Why haven’t you told more people, Tim? So that he’s not still around?”

Timmy worries his forehead against his fist. “Because,” he whines. “It’s embarrassing.”

And that just makes Armie sick. The fact that Timmy is victim blaming himself makes him feel like he might physically hurl. How can the boy not see that he’s not the problem here? In situations like this, the victim should never feel embarrassed for what happened to them, but sadly, that’s what the world makes them do. If anything, Luke should be the one who’s mortified, the one who’s ashamed. But Armie has heard enough about him to know that it’s highly unlikely that that will ever happen.

The world has failed his boyfriend.

“Timmy, I really don’t think you should go up there. I mean, of course I want you to be at the party, but it’s not likely that he’ll leave any time soon and...I just don’t want you to be around that,” Saoirse finally admits. Armie appreciates how much she clearly cares for Timmy, always has since they met in high school.

To Armie’s surprise, Timmy frantically shakes his head at that. “No, I’m...I’m going to the party. I’m not going to miss Will’s birthday because of this,” saying ‘this’ as if what he’s referring to can easily be dismissed.

Armie has a bad feeling. It forms deep in his gut. “I don’t know, Tim. Maybe we should just go home. I’m sure Will will understand,” he says as he places a hand on the small of Timmy’s back, hoping it redirects him. Unsurprisingly, Timmy’s stubbornness doesn’t allow it.

“Stop. Don’t do that,” Timmy says as he shrinks away from Armie.

Armie frowns. “Don’t do what?”

Timmy shakes his head. “What you’re doing...right now. You’re always trying to change my mind and convince me to do what you want to do. I hate when you do that,” Timmy mutters.

Armie stops. Of fucking course. “Tim, can we please not do this tonight, seriously? This is really not the time for this,” Armie says, because it isn’t. He has no capacity to entertain Timmy’s false accusations and pettiness when there’s a much bigger problem at hand.

“I’m not doing anything,” Timmy mumbles as he picks at his fingernails.

“But you are,” Armie says, growing frustrated. “You’re doing it right now and I don’t even have to say what you’re doing because you know you’re doing it.”

“Guys, stop,” Saoirse sighs, seemingly fed up with their shit.

Timmy huffs in frustration as well, pushing his hair back and finally looking up to meet Armie’s eyes. Armie can see that he’s troubled, worried, perhaps scared, but he does so well at masking it that it makes Armie wonder if he’s seeing things.

“I want to go to the party. I’m an adult and I can make those choices for myself but, then again, so can you. So if you decide not to join me upstairs then that’s your decision, but I will not be leaving with you,” Timmy says. It’s final, it’s smart, and Armie almost wants to scream because Timmy is so fucking intelligent that it pisses him off.

Armie stares at him, hoping Timmy’s soft green eyes will finally back down, but they never do. He sighs, knowing this decision was never his to make. Saoirse watches them silently.

“Fine, Timmy,” he just about growls. “We’ll go to the fucking party. But if I see that bastard get anywhere near you, or if he even looks your way, I’m beating the shit out of him and we’re leaving.”

Armie was already planning on breaking the man’s face anyway, but he keeps that to himself.

Timmy doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say thank you, doesn’t nod, he just looks away. His eyes meet Saoirse expectantly as he says, “So, you have the elevator key?”

\--

They spot Luke almost as soon as the elevator doors to the penthouse open. The party is bumping, and there’s people literally everywhere, but the only person Armie can look at is the one asshole who’s always on his mind.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, chatting away. He seems to be enjoying himself, doesn’t seem to have any regard for his actions, his past, his twisted ways. It makes Armie livid. To anyone else, he looks unassuming. He’s a big guy, though shorter than Armie, blonde hair, dark brown eyes. Nothing about him is particularly intimidating, but if someone were to know his past, it would change a lot about how they view him.

Armie has seen Luke before on social media of course, but never like this. He doesn’t feel frightened by him at all, just mostly infuriated, but Timmy is a different story. He immediately tenses next to Armie, grabbing his arm and leading him away to another part of the house. Luke never looks their way.

Timmy passes all of the drinks and drugs without thought and instantly finds Will and Ansel. They engulf each other in hugs, talk and talk and talk, and Armie feels himself relax slightly. He can do this. If he can keep Timmy away from Luke, Timmy can enjoy himself. It would all be fine.

Armie knows Timmy tries, he knows he does, but a little later, when Armie’s eye catches Luke wandering around the party, appearing to have migrated from the kitchen, Timmy grabs his hand and asks, “Can we go find a room or something?”

To any other couple, this suggestion might imply that Timmy wants to get it on, find some place for a quick fuck or a blow job, but Armie knows that’s not the case. Not when Timmy’s breathing has increased rapidly, not when his eyes become watery, not when his hand trembles in Armie’s own. No, Timmy isn’t aroused. He’s panicking.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go find somewhere to chill,” Armie assures before Timmy quietly excuses himself.

Armie keeps an eye out for Luke as he ascends the stairs with his hand around Timmy’s waist, but he can’t find him. He hopes to god he’s nowhere close.

He finally pushes into an empty room that is clearly a guest room, the bed made and a dim lamp on in the corner. Armie guides Timmy over to sit on the edge of the bed with a small push before he turns to lock the door. When he looks back, Timmy’s hands are at his sides, gripping the sheets.

“You okay?” Armie asks as he joins Timmy on the bed. He rubs a hand up and down his back, feeling the way Timmy’s breathing has only gotten worse.

Timmy stares at the ground as he weakly tries to breathe through his nose. “Yeah, just needed a second.”

Armie frowns at him. “You can be honest with me, Timmy. We can leave if you--”

“No,” Timmy interrupts. He’s breathing faster. Frustrated, nervous, terrified. “No, it’s fine, really. I’m sorry I’m acting like this. I don’t even… God, he hasn’t even done anything. I’m being ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Armie stops him in his tracks. “Stop it. Don’t do this to yourself, okay? You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, even if nothing is particularly happening. Don’t try to invalidate yourself.”

Timmy likely doesn’t hear a word of this. “It shouldn’t...It shouldn’t affect me this much. I was the one who stayed. I was the one who let him--”

Armie wants to scream at him, force him to understand that what happened to him was not his fault and there was nothing he could’ve done differently that would change that, but Timmy doesn’t need that right now. So instead he cuts him off lightly, tucking a curl behind the boy’s ear and shushing him.

“Shhh. Calm down, baby. You’ve got to catch your breath,” Armie pleads, realizing that they’re wandering dangerously close to anxiety attack territory.

“I’m--”

“Breathe,” Armie hums as he continues to smooth wide circles over his lover’s back. “Just relax.”

It takes Armie a while to calm Timmy down, but it doesn’t take him very long to get shut down for yet again suggesting they leave. Timmy simply ignores his proposal, walks to the door, turns back to make sure Armie has followed him, and walks right back out into the party as if nothing happened.

Armie might be the only one who notices him wiping away a few stray tears.

\--

Armie follows Timmy like a shadow all night. He doesn’t let the boy get more than five feet away from him, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd so Timmy’s don’t have to. It’s not too bad, considering he and Timmy have mostly the same friends at this point, but he can sense Timmy feeling haggled.

Luke continues to roam around the house like he owns the place, girls flocking to him like he’s a magnet. But, despite how many times he seems to get just a little too close for Armie’s liking, he never once looks their way. Armie can’t tell if Luke genuinely doesn’t know Timmy is here or if he couldn’t care less.

Armie sighs as Timmy chats away with someone at the kitchen counter. He feels like he can’t even enjoy himself. He’s more worried about keeping an eye out for Luke than actually having a good time.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Timmy suddenly blurts from beside him. Armie looks up to realize the people who he was talking to must have left in the time that he was patrolling the area.

“Okay,” Armie says with a nod. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” Timmy says definitely, though he still leans forward to press his chest against Armie’s as he looks up at him. His eyes are bloodshot from the pot he was smoking not too long ago. Armie wishes he could relax enough for a drink or a puff too, but he simply can’t.

Armie frowns. “Huh?”

“I can go by myself. I want to,” Timmy says from under his eyelashes, eyes batting.

And Armie doesn’t understand. Why would Timmy want to go by himself? What about Luke? Is he not scared anymore?

“Well, I don’t want you going alone,” Armie says, avoiding the words they are both thinking. Luke is out there. Luke is near. He’s prowling like a shark.

Armie’s not sure if it’s the weed or what, but Timmy brushes him off by putting his hands on Armie’s shoulders and saying, “Arms, I just need a second to breathe, okay? We’ve been attached at the hip all night. I want to go somewhere alone for literally just a second.”

Armie frowns and rests his hands on Timmy’s hips, his lower back pinned against the counter. He appreciates Timmy’s honesty, but it still hurts to know that he’s been suffocating Timmy all night. He feels bad, but he can’t help himself from saying, “But what about…”

Timmy breaks eye contact to instead look behind Armie’s head reluctantly. “He hasn’t even looked this way all night,” Timmy says, surprising Armie. He would’ve thought Timmy would be too caught up in the night to notice, but Timmy’s too knowing to be that clueless. “Seriously, go enjoy yourself. Talk to some of your friends. I won’t be long.”

Armie refrains from saying that he would only be enjoying himself if they were to go home.

He apprehensively nods his head in agreement, not wanting to bother Timmy any further. If he can’t have a good time, he should at least let Timmy have one.

Timmy smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek before pulling away. Armie watches him until he’s out of sight, and then he forces himself to interact.

\--

Armie hates to admit it, but he actually finds himself relaxing once he begins to socialize. Talking to his old friends is freeing, takes him back to the days when he didn’t have responsibilities. Days when you could still pretend you weren’t an adult even though you were nineteen or twenty.

Without realizing, twenty minutes goes by. Armie takes a pull from his beer that he finally let himself have and glances around the penthouse. Still no sign of Timmy. He debates with himself for a minute, wondering if he should throw in the towel and go look for him, but he doesn’t want to annoy Timmy anymore. What if he’s having a good time without Armie breathing down his neck? Armie doesn’t want to ruin that.

And besides, he saw Luke not too long ago. He had been at the top of the stairs sucking some girls face off. It had looked consensual, but Armie wouldn’t put it past him.

It doesn’t take long for Armie to start going crazy at the fact that Timmy still hasn’t returned. What if something’s wrong? What if something happened? What if he’s having a seizure? What if Luke…? He can even finish that thought. He won’t.

Instead he gets up abruptly from his spot on the couch, fumbling out a lie to his friends. They don’t question it. He makes his way over to where he saw Timmy disappear over half an hour ago to use the bathroom. He sees that a line has formed outside, but he doesn’t see any signs of Timmy.

Just before he walks away, Armie recognizes one of Timmy’s friends, Kiernan. He walks up to her and tries to appear as calm as possible, when inside he’s slowly losing his sanity.

“Hey, Kiernan,” he says as he taps her on the shoulder.

She turns around to look at him, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree when she recognizes him. “Armie, hey! How’ve you been?”

“Good, good. Yeah,” Armie replies, a little breathless. He’s so fucking anxious to find Timmy. “Look, uh, have you seen Timmy around?”

“Yeah,” Kiernan replies, but her affirmation only relieves Armie slightly. “I saw him talking to some people and then he stood in line for the bathroom for a bit but then he got all impatient and left. I think he was going to see if Ansel would let him use his bathroom.”

Armie’s heart sinks. He thinks back to the last time he saw Luke: he was at the top of the stairs. What if he saw Timmy go up there? What if--

“Uh, thank you, K. I’ve gotta go,” Armie quickly forces out.

He doesn’t wait around for her reply.

Armie feels himself starting to sweat as he swallows down some anticipation. There’s people all around him as he tries to get to the stairs, but he’s head and shoulders over them all, so he shimmies his way through.

“Fuck, Timmy,” Armie says to himself as he looks right, left, right, left down the hall, trying to remember where he had almost walked into Ansel’s room earlier.

He finally finds the door at the end of the hall. He takes a deep breath in before opening the door, but nothing could prepare him for what he sees.

There, on the wall perpendicular to the door, stood Luke with his back facing Armie, the unmistakable floof of Timmy’s curls mostly hidden behind his frame. His body was caging Timmy in against the wall, one arm above his head and the other pulling the boy against his flush body by his waist. He’s leaning down to whisper something undoubtedly vile into Timmy’s ear, all while Timmy is looking spaced out over his shoulder, tears silently strolling his face.

Armie’s frozen for a second or two. It’s like getting hit in the face with a pile of bricks. It’s like a head on collision. He can’t breathe. He can’t believe it. He’s ultimately stunned in the doorway.

But when he barely hears Luke growl, “Did you miss me, baby?” into Timmy’s ear, he loses it.

Red-hot fury lurches him forward, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard he’s afraid his teeth might crack. He roughly grabs the back of Luke’s shirt and rams him into the ground. He can’t see anything but red, seething as he hears Luke gasp in surprise when he lands on the ground under him. He ignores Timmy for now, more focused on beating Luke’s face in first.

“Dude, what the fu--”

Luke doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Armie is kicking his heavy boots into the man’s ribs, finding the pained sound he lets out only slightly mitigating. 

“You don’t fucking touch him! Do you hear me, you sorry sack of shit?! I ought to fucking kill you!” Armie says, his problem with his anger getting the best of him, but can anyone blame him?

Luke scrambles to his feet, looking like a deer in the headlights. His eyes bug out of his head as he looks up at Armie, appearing genuinely terrified for his life.

It only makes Armie more mad that Luke is more concerned about getting the shit beat out of him for what he did to Timmy than being concerned about what his abuse has done to Timmy himself. It makes Armie ball up his fists, riling his arm up before he socks Luke’s face right in his mouth, loving the way the man immediately spits out blood.

Luke stumbles, bringing a hand up to his lips.

“What’s the matter, huh? You can hit your fucking boyfriend but you can’t hit me, you little bitch?!” Armie shouts. He knows his voice echoes down the hall, but he can’t bring himself to care. He hopes someone comes in here to separate them, because if they don’t, Armie might legitimately end this man’s life.

As if on cue, Ansel comes busting into the room with a few other guys. He looks shocked, eyes flicking between Armie and Luke as he tries to understand the situation. Armie would feel bad for this all going down in his room, but right now, all he can feel is pure resentment. 

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Ansel asks for clarification. He doesn’t immediately point fingers at either of them.

Armie balls his fists up again, ready to hit Luke in the face for a second time before he says, “Why don’t you ask your boy?” He looks Luke up and down hatefully. Not only did Luke assault Timmy, he also put his hands on Armie’s boyfriend. “Come on, tell them, you sick bastard. Tell them how you were groping my boyfriend!”

He’s sure not to mention the fact that Luke used to abuse Timmy in this way every day when they were in a relationship because he thinks back to the mortified look on Timmy’s face when he had asked him why he hadn’t told other people. He may be infuriated, but he’s not going to tell a story that is not his to tell.

Ansel looks over to Luke with a disappointed look on his face. He looks devastated, almost disgusted. “Are you fucking serious, man?” he says, not yelling but with a voice so firm it silences the room.

Luke doesn’t say a word. He just stares at Ansel, unable to give him an answer. Armie wants to beat one out of him.

Ansel shakes his head. “Dude...you gotta go.”

Armie almost smiles when he sees the look of shock on Luke's face, the way his mouth opens to say something that he never gets out.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Luke,” Ansel says as him and his friends start shoving him out of the room and into the hallway.

Armie watches them for a second. He watches Luke try to explain, hears his pleas, sees the blood pouring out of his mouth. He feels good, proud, relieved. That is until he hears Timmy whimper from behind him.

He whips around to see that Timmy’s face has crumbled and tears pour out of his eyes profusely. Armie can see even from a distance that he’s shivering, fucking shuddering against the wall as he appears frozen in place. He doesn’t look at Armie, doesn’t even look at anything specifically. 

Armie sees it, the distance in his eyes: he’s dissociating.

“Fuck, Tim,” Armie says as he makes his way over to Timmy. 

His heart physically hurts at the sight of him. He wants to touch him, but he doesn’t know if he should. Dissociation is something he’s picked up from the abuse, and Armie doesn’t want to trigger it any further.

“Timmy…” Armie whispers with his hands out in surrender. He doesn’t know what much else he can do.

Timmy shakes against the wall, still looking bewildered. He can’t find the words.

“Maybe we should…” Armie doesn’t want to say it. That would make it all real. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

Timmy only wipes his tears away silently, holding his sobs in as hard as he can.

Armie takes his stillness as agreement. “Come on, baby. Let’s just go.”

When he holds his hand out, he expects Timmy to take it, follow him out of the penthouse, let Armie lead him back home. He definitely doesn’t expect what Timmy does, which is smack his head away and abruptly storm out of the room.

Armie hesitates before he follows, because, what? Did he do something wrong? Is Timmy upset at him?

“Timmy?” Armie says as he jogs to catch up with the boy who is already halfway down the hallway.

Timmy doesn’t look at him, doesn’t respond. He keeps walking, making his way down the stairs and pushing past people without even apologizing. It’s so unlike him. It makes Armie almost trip over his own feet to keep up.

“What is your problem?” Armie asks as he follows Timmy into the kitchen. Timmy who is still blatantly ignoring him.

It’s when Timmy goes to reach for a drink that Armie finally puts his hands on him. He grabs him by the bicep before he can even pour anything into his red solo cup. Armie doesn’t miss the way he flinches, just like he doesn’t miss the guilt he feels afterward, but he doesn’t let go. Not even when Timmy finally turns to look him in the eye.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Armie asks, stern.

Timmy angrily yanks his arm away, and, of course, Armie lets him. “I’m getting a fucking drink. Is that okay with you?” he scoffs, obviously not giving a shit what Armie thinks either way.

“No, actually, it’s not,” Armie says though he knows Timmy doesn’t care. “Are you fucking serious right now? You’re taking Depakote. You shouldn’t be drinking on that.”

Timmy shoves him away, but with no more force than what was needed for Armie to stumble a step or two. He fills his cup up with alcohol, mixing a drink that was mostly liquor and hardly juice before he turns back to Armie.

“I can drink on Depakote, Armie. Believe it or not, I actually know how to take care of myself,” Timmy says, though it seems so out of character. Why is he acting like this?

Armie shakes his head. “That’s not… You know that’s not the point. I know you can drink on it, you’re just not supposed to drink a lot, Tim. I don’t want you getting sick or anything,” he tries to explain, but Timmy rolls his eyes before he’s even halfway through speaking.

“I know my limits, Armie. I lived in this world twenty-one years before I met you and I think I was doing just fine,” Timmy says.

Armie tries not to read between the lines too much in that statement, but what else is he supposed to think? Timmy is making it sound like he’d much rather be without Armie in his life.

But he doesn’t want to dig this hole any deeper, so he bites his tongue, watches Timmy take a gulp of his drink, and only lets him stalk a few feet away before he’s following him like a stray puppy all over again.

\--

It’s not like Timmy was chugging liquor or throwing back shot after shot or anything over the course of the next hour, but the fact that he’s on medication makes it seem that way. It doesn’t take along before Armie realizes that Timmy is tripping over his own feet, slurring his words, all while pointedly ignoring his boyfriend who hovers behind him throughout the night.

Once Timmy excuses himself from his friends once again and starts making his way towards the kitchen, Armie knows he’s going for his third drink. And, honestly, to any other normal person, three drinks won’t get them wasted. It probably wouldn’t even get them more than a little tipsy. But unfortunately, Timmy isn’t normal. He’s medicated, he’s a risk. It’s not healthy for him to be pushing his limits like this.

“Timmy,” Armie says as he continues to trail behind the younger. 

Timmy doesn’t respond, just like he hasn’t been for quite some time. It’s honestly pissing Armie off. Can’t he see that Armie is just concerned for him?

“Fuck,” Armie hisses as Timmy shoulder-checks the wall as he tries to round the corner to the kitchen. It throws him off balance more than it should, and Armie has to catch him before he quite literally falls on his ass.

“Damn, what the…” Timmy says to himself once he’s steadied. Then he keeps walking. Doesn’t thank Armie. Doesn’t even think about how concerning it is that he’s acting this way off of two drinks.

“Would you stop?” Armie huffs as he follows. “Just stop, Tim.”

“Armie…” Timmy slurs as he steps into the kitchen. “I think you’re bein’ really over drama’ic right now.”

Armie can only gape at that. How can he even say that? Armie is nowhere near over dramatic. If anything, he’s not being dramatic enough. He’s watching on as Timmy tries to drink away his pain from being literally assaulted by his abusive ex-boyfriend and instead of dragging him out of the party and filling a fucking polic report against this jackass. 

In fact, Armie’s just about had enough. He’s tired of watching Timmy try to numb the pain with alcohol and indifference. It’s wrong. It’s not healthy. And he won’t allow it for another second.

“Enough,” Armie says as he grabs Timmy’s wrists that’s reaching for another drink. “We’re leaving. Let’s go.”

“Stop,” Timmy whines as he yanks his hand away. He frowns at Armie like he can’t believe his boyfriend would try to cut him off before it gets really bad.

Armie grits his teeth. He’s really not in the mood. It’s not even that he’s mad at Timmy. He’s mad at what happened to Timmy. He’s mad at the fact that Luke can walk away unharmed while Timmy has to mend the consequences. But he has trouble voicing that explanation here where tens of people are conversing around them, the music blasting, so it comes out as anger towards Timmy.

“I said that’s enough, Tim. Put the fucking cup down,” Armie says, sounding just about as irate as he is.

“Fuck you,” Timmy says back. He squints up at his boyfriend, swaying back and forth as he clearly swallows around dizziness.

Armie scoffs. Is he fucking joking?

“Fuck me?”

“Yeah…” Timmy says as he takes a sip from his drink, just out of spite.

“I’m trying to help you and keep you from getting sick and all you can say is fuck you? Are you serious right now, Timmy?” Armie grits out. He can feel his face going beet red with anger. He can feel the smoke coming out of his ears.

“You’re not tryin’ to help me,” Timmy slurs. “You’re-You’re tryin’ to… You’re jus’ tryin’ to control me. Like...Like Luke! You’re fuckin’...bein’ like Luke right now. You’re jus’ like him. Like shit.” Takes another sip.

Armie freezes. Did he...really just say that? Did Timmy really just compare him to fucking Luke?! That fucking bastard that ruined Timmy’s life in the span of two years? The one that took advantage of him, forced himself on him, belittled him, hit him, fucking broke him? That sick motherfucker? 

And sure, Timmy’s not in his right mind. He’s not even close to being sober, let alone thinking about what he’s saying before he speaks, but still. Does he not realize how fucked up that is to say? How fucked up it is to imply that your boyfriend who is bringing you out of your shell and helping you back to what you used to be is in any way, shape or form comparable to that sick individual? 

It hurts, so fucking bad. But Armie doesn’t let it show. He needs to be the bigger person if he’s going to get Timmy to listen to his rationality.

“Timmy, please. You’re not thinking straight. Let’s just leave. You shouldn’t be here trying to drink this all away right now,” Armie pleads. He hates that he hears the hurt in his voice.

Timmy doesn’t seem to notice it though. “You don’ need t’ tell me what I should be doin,’ okay?” Timmy mumbles as he waves a finger at Armie. Then he lifts the drink to his lips again, this time taking a large gulp.

And, okay, Armie is seriously done with this. This is all so fucked, and he won’t watch it happen for another minute.

“Stop it, okay? Fucking stop,” Armie says as he grabs Timmy’s bicep. “Don’t do this.”

“Get your hands off me,” Timmy replies. He tries to pull away again, but Armie has a better hold on him this time. 

Armie can feel the way people around them begin to look on in interest. He knows it looks bad, but he can’t let go of Timmy. He just can’t. Because Timmy won’t listen. And he has to get him the fuck out of here. 

“You need to listen to me,” Armie says, cringing at his choice of words. They don’t sound good along with Timmy’s. He feels his cheeks flush. This is so fucking embarrassing.

“Armie, ser’ously, stop,” Timmy argues as he tries to pull away again.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on here?” some random guy says as he steps up to Armie and Timmy. He’s not that intimidating, about Timmy’s height, Armie’s build. Two friends stand behind him, sipping their drinks silently, but still shoving their face in the situation nonetheless.

Armie tries to assure them “No, no, no. It’s fine. I’m his boyfriend--”

“No, you’re fucking not!” Timmy yells as he yanks his arm again. Armie lets go this time, feeling the way more eyes stare them down.

Armie tries to ignore the way his heart shatters at that. TImmy’s not sober, he tries to tell himself. He doesn’t mean it.

“I don’t think you being his boyfriend has anything to do with you putting your hands on him,” the guy says back. 

Timmy takes a step away from Armie and towards the guy. As if the guy is going to protect him. As if Armie is the enemy. He knows Timmy does it just to rile him up, but it still makes him sick.

“I wasn’t putting my hands on him. I was trying to get him to leave,” Armie says as calmly as he can because this dude has no idea what he’s fucking talking about. He doesn’t know what just went down, what has gone down, or how dangerous it is for Timmy to be acting this way. He’s just plain ignorant.

“The kid doesn’t want to leave, man. Maybe you should just leave him alone,” the guy says back. And, god, his face is so punchable.

Armie ignores him, looking back to Timmy. “Tim, please…”

Timmy doesn’t respond. He just looks at the ground, almost in shame. It shows that he knows somewhere in him that what he’s doing is wrong, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.

“Just go, dude. He doesn’t want you here,” one of the guy’s friends says. Deep down, Armie thinks that he’s right.

Armie looks Timmy in the eye one last time, waiting for him to speak up. To defend Armie. To tell these guys and everyone around them know that he’s not the bad guy and that he’s not doing anything wrong. But that never comes.

So Armie leaves.

He catches Saoirse on the way out, who doesn’t even have a chance to ask him where Timmy is.

“I’m heading home. Can you keep an eye on Timmy tonight? Just...make sure he’s not drinking too much, okay? He really shouldn’t be drinking on his medication,” Armie rambles quickly over the music.

Saoirse looks at him sadly, clearly knowing something is off. She reaches out to touch Armie’s shoulder, and that’s when he realizes that he’s shaking. She frowns. “Armie, are you okay?”

Armie ignores the lump in his throat. “I’ll call you in the morning. Just...make sure he’s safe tonight.”

He leaves after that. Tears roll down his face as he walks down the street. Tears roll down his face as he rides the subway. He doesn’t acknowledge them, though. That would make them real.

Is he a bad person for leaving Timmy there alone? But how much more patient could he have been? Does Timmy really think of him that way? Does he secretly compare him to Luke? Maybe Armie isn’t good for Timmy. Maybe he makes it worse. 

The thoughts don’t stop even when Armie’s face hits the pillow back at home. They don’t even stop in his dreams.

\--

Armie doesn’t have the guts to call Saoirse when he wakes up. He’s scared that Timmy ranted to her about him, comparing him to Luke and calling him a bad boyfriend. But even moreso, he’s scared that Saoirse agreed.

Should he have grabbed Timmy the way he did last night? He thinks so. Timmy wouldn’t listen and he needed to get him out of there. But was touching him really necessary? Especially when he knows Timmy’s past? God, the guilt won’t leave him.

So he doesn’t call her or Timmy for that matter. And what’s even worse is that Saoirse doesn’t try to call either.

It rolls around to almost 2 pm before Armie’s phone finally rings with Saoirse’s name on the screen. He lets it buzz a few times, pretending he wasn’t waiting for the call, pretending his heart didn’t jump when the call finally came through. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, or controlling, in Timmy’s words.

He finally lifts it to his ear on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Armie. You alright, then?” Saoirse’s Irish accent voices through the phone. She doesn’t sound angry, so Armie advances on.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lies.

“Good,” she says. Armie can tell she’s hesitating. 

Armie hates that he asks this so quickly. “How’s Timmy?”

“Good, yeah. He’s alright,” Saoirse answers. Then she pauses. She seems to think for a minute before continuing. “But, you know, last night he was a wreck.”

Armie’s heart skips. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he uh…” she starts. “I got him to leave not too long after you left.”

Armie tries not to take offense to that. He tries not to be bothered by the fact that Saoirse asking Timmy to leave was immediately complied but when he did, all he was left with was the cold shoulder and some nasty words thrown his way. He waits for her to continue.

“He had wiped out in one of the bathrooms. Was kinda just curled up in a ball on the floor,” Saoirse recounts. “I managed to get him up and made him leave. And I drove, so...I just kinda put him in my car. But...once we started making our way down the road, he broke.”

Armie frowns. “What do you mean?”

Saoirse sighs. “Uh, well, he kinda just...had a bit of a breakdown. He started crying really hard, like almost hyperventilating. And he kept asking for you and asking where you went. And then he kept saying he fucked it all up and that he’s a shitty boyfriend. He wouldn’t calm down, really.”

Armie’s heart sinks. For some reason, he feels guilty for making Timmy cry, even though he had done nothing wrong.

“It was that medication, you know. It made him absolutely shit-faced,” Saoirse theorizes.

“Yeah,” Armie mumbles. “That's what I tried to tell him.”

Saoirse let’s a beat pass. “He’s not...mad at you, Armie. He feels like a right dickhead for how he treated you last night.”

“Hm…” Armie answers because what is he supposed to say? He doesn’t even know if he deserves Timmy’s guilt. What if he was the asshole too?

“And I wanted to tell you… This morning, when he woke up, he was quite...hungover. He wasn’t really feeling well. I think he was dehydrated, and…”

Armie waits for her to finish. He presses the phone closer to his ear as he feels his heart rate pick up. He prays to god that she won’t say what he thinks she might. “What?” he finally asks when she won’t speak. He needs to know.

“Armie...he had a seizure this morning.”

Armie then feels all of his blood leave him at once. He feels lightheaded as he knees buckle beneath him and he literally has to sit down before he can speak. Black dots cloud the corners of his vision as he hears this, hears that Timmy had a seizure and he wasn’t there to protect him. He feels sick, genuinely fearing that he might vomit.

“W-What?” Armie stutters.

“He’s fine, though! He’s...okay,” Saoirse tries to reassure quickly. “I wasn’t that bad, Armie, I promise. It’s just...it took a lot out of him and he’s exhausted.”

Armie can’t think right now. He paces the room trying to calm his anxiety. “Oh my god.”

“Armie, calm down. I promise you, he’s fine. I think he was just dehydrated and hungover and that triggered something. But...I know how to handle these, okay? I’ve been friends with him long enough. I’ve seen these first hand--”

“That’s not…” Armie says breathlessly. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I just...I wasn’t there. Oh my god, I wasn’t there for him.” 

Armie’s mind starts to go crazy with things he should’ve done differently. He should’ve stayed with Timmy. He should’ve ignored his pettiness. He shouldn’t have let him have that first drink. He should’ve made him leave right after he found him and Luke. He should’ve made him leave the second they found out that Luke was fucking there. God, what has he done.

“Don’t blame yourself, Armie. Please, don’t do that. You know these things are unpredictable. You had no way of knowing this would happen,” Saoirse tries to soothe. It doesn’t work.

“I--”

“Listen,” Saoirse interrupts. “I was calling you because I’m bringing him to you guys’ place, okay? He’s been asking for you all morning. I just wanted to let you know before I left.”

“No, I’ll come get him,” Armie argues.

Saoirse laughs with as much humor as she can muster. “That’s sweet, Armie. But trust me, it’ll be quicker this way. I’ll have him there in half an hour.”

Armie worries his lip between his teeth before he agrees.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

\--

Saoirse arrives right when she said she would: half an hour later. When Armie walks up to the passenger side, he looks in the window to see that Timmy is fast asleep against the headrest. He looks like he showered, though his hair is still a mess. It makes Armie’s heart flutter.

When he opens Timmy’s door and leans inside, the boy doesn’t stir.

“Hey,” Armie says to Saoirse, barely able to meet her eye. He still feels the guilt, for some reason feeling like he has responsibility over everything that involves Timmy’s safety.

“Hey,” she responds as she smiles at Timmy sadly. “He’s a bit worn. It took forever for me to get him to the car earlier.”

Armie looks at the boy. His eyelashes brush the freckles on his cheeks as he breathes long and even. His mouth hangs open a little bit, and a drop of drool trails down the side of his face. It makes him smile.

As gingerly as he can, Armie pats Timmy’s thigh lovingly, rubbing up and down the expanse of his leg. “Tim,” he whispers. “Hey, wake up.”

Timmy’s heavy eyelids crack open slightly. He slowly looks over at Armie, and it feels like an eternity before their eyes finally meet, but when they do, Timmy’s eyes grow wide with excitement and surprise. Armie breathes a sigh of relief. Timmy is happy to see him.

“Arms…” Timmy mumbles. His eyes are glassy, his mouth agape.

“Hey, baby,” Armie smiles at him. He grabs Timmy’s hand that is slowly reaching up to touch his face, his movements weak and delayed, surely from the seizure earlier. “Let’s get you upstairs, okay?”

Timmy nods frantically as he grabs the front of Armie’s shirt. He seems shocked that Armie is really here. 

“You should probably carry him,” Saoirse advises. “He could hardly walk earlier. The sore muscles and all.”

So Armie does just that. 

He scoops Timmy into his arms and lifts him out of the car, walking the two of them towards the apartment. The boy is so exhausted that he falls asleep against Armie’s chest as he climbs the flight of stairs. Saoirse tags along so she can open the door for the two. Before she leaves, Armie is sure to thank her. He has no idea how last night would’ve gone if it wasn’t for her.

Armie then carefully lays Timmy in the bed, covering him up and closing the curtains. Timmy doesn’t crack an eye open once, too drained to rise from his slumber.

Then Armie goes into the living room, puts his face in his hands, and sobs.

\--

Armie goes to check on Timmy an hour or so later. When he walks in the room, he isn’t surprised to find that the boy is still fast asleep.

As Armie rounds the younger’s side of the bed and looks down at his gentle features, he thinks back to how stark different it is from the words he threw Armie’s way last night. And yeah, Armier gets it. It was spur of the moment, non-sober banter, but it still hurt all the same.

He reaches down to brush Timmy’s curls away from his face, then scratching his scalp to wake him. “Timmy.”

Timmy leans into the touch before stirring. He blinks his eyes open and looks up at Armie with furrowed brows for a second before his facial expression softens. Armie watches as the younger pushes the blanket away from his mouth and mumbles, “Hey.”

Armie wonders if this is how the argument will end: with them not addressing it. Sure, Timmy isn’t feeling well, but Armie would’ve assumed the first thing out of his mouth would be an apology.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Armie asks, ignoring his thoughts. They’re probably selfish anyway.

Timmy seems to think about this for a second, looking around the room. In fact, he seems to be looking anywhere but at Armie. “Umm...yeah,” he says, a little embarrassed.

“Okay. Come on, then,” Armie says as he pulls the covers back to reveal Timmy’s body.

Timmy slowly pushes himself up onto his elbows and then onto his side, trying and failing to hide his groans in pain. It’s typical for his body to ache following a seizure, being that it causes him to clench every muscle he possesses. 

“Here,” Armie says as he holds both hands out for Timmy. 

The boy grabs them, his arms shaking as Armie lifts him to his feet. He falls against Armie’s chest heavily, grunting from the electric shocks that must shoot up through his body.

“You good?” Armie asks as he gathers Timmy under his arm so they can make their way toward the bathroom.

Timmy doesn’t do much but nod, gripping the front of Armie’s shirt as the older shuffles them through the room.

It takes them a while to even get anywhere, but once they’re just outside the door, Armie notices that Timmy has begun trembling. And not just the normal shaking from the pain, but proper shudders that go up his whole body. It alarms him.

“Timmy, what’s wrong?” Armie asks, stopping them in their tracks.

Timmy tucks his face into the side of Armie’s chest. “Nothing.”

“Baby, you’re shaking,” Armie points out. This seems to only make the boy shiver more. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just...sore,” Timmy mumbles against Armie’s shirt.

“You shouldn’t be that sore, Tim. It shouldn’t hurt you that bad,” Armie says because he knows. He knows what Timmy is like after a seizure, what bothers him and what doesn’t. And this, for sure, isn’t normal. “If it hurts that bad, then maybe I should take you to the hospital or something. You might’ve hurt yourself earlier.”

And then it starts. Armie feels the way Timmy’s breath starts quickening, the way he tries to hold it back. Then he hears the sniffles and the hiccups. Timmy’s about to cry.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong?” Armie asks as he tries to pull Timmy away to get a better look, but Timmy won’t budge. He keeps his face right where it is.

And then, “I pissed myself.”

It comes out so rushed and mumbled that Armie almost doesn’t hear it. But when he finally comprehends it, his heart sinks. Because he feels terrible for Timmy. Because this all just isn’t fair. And when he looks down to confirm his statement, he sees a dark patch that has grown around Timmy’s groin some time between the bed and the bathroom door.

He remains unbothered, though. For Timmy’s sake. The boy is surely already mortified, and hasn’t he gone through enough last night?

“Oh, it’s okay, honey. We can clean you up. We’ll take a shower together, how about that?” Armie tries to compromise.

Timmy can only bring himself to nod, not trusting his voice being that he’s on the verge of tears.

Armie takes them into the bathroom and turns on the shower. As he’s stripping them both of their clothes, Timmy whispers out, “I’m sorry.”

Armie isn’t sure what he’s referring to: the piss or the argument, so he just shushes him.

They rinse off in silence for a few long minutes. For the most part, Timmy just pushes his face into Armie’s chest and tucks his wet curls under the older’s chin. Armie wraps his arms around him, holding him close as they sway under the hot water. He can tell that Timmy wants to say something just from the tension in his body.

Eventually, he speaks. “I’m really...I’m really sorry for last night. I shouldn’t have acted that way or,” he sniffles, “said those things to you. I’m just...I’m really sorry, Armie. Can you...Is there any way you can forgive me?”

And Armie feels his heart shatter because this is what Timmy does. He lets his mind run wild and he thinks up the worst scenarios, the worst consequences, and somehow convinces himself that they’re true. 

Why on earth would he think that Armie would break up with him for what happened last night? Yeah, he said some shitty things and acted like a brat, but he was going through some serious shit. His ex harassed him at a party, and that surely brought back a lot of dark fucking memories. He wasn’t in his right mind.

“Of course, I forgive you, Timmy,” Armie confirms.

This for some reason triggers Timmy to sob. “I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. You...God, you deserve so much fucking better Armie--”

“No, stop,” Armie hushes him. “Don’t you talk like that. I don’t...I can’t love anyone but you, Timmy. You know that.”

Timmy can only weep in reply.

“Listen to me, Timmy. This...has to be addressed. You can’t keep letting him consume your life like this. I think...I think you should tell your friends what he’s done to you. He doesn’t deserve to be around you or them after the things he’s done.”

Timmy immediately shakes his head. “No, I...I can’t,” he sobs. “It’s embarrassing.”

“If they’re truly your friends, it shouldn’t be embarrassing,” Armie promises, placing a kiss on top of Timmy’s curls. “Just...please, baby. You have to tell them. And you should report him to the police too.”

Timmy laughs bitterly around his cries. “The police don’t care. There’s no...There’s no evidence. No...proof. I should’ve talked to the police while we were still together. I-It’s too late now.”

Armie shakes his head. “It’s not. I promise you. It’s not. And even if they can’t really do anything about it, you can still get a restraining order or something against him, Tim. And if he does it again, to someone else, they would have your report to back that person up, right?”

Timmy hesitates before he nods, his cries now gasps of air.

“He shouldn’t be able to get away with this, okay? There’s still so much you can do,” Armie says as he rubs the boy’s wet back.

Timmy sniffles and nods. “You’re right.”

Armie kisses his wet locks again. “You can fix this,” he says, referring to both the situation and the person Timmy once was before the abuse. “You can fix it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for your kudos and comments!! they help more than you guys know.
> 
> let me know what you liked and what you'd like to see!
> 
> i'm sweettimotea on tumblr if you want to send asks or chat!!   
> <3


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